The Sons of Thunder
by Augusta Almeda
Summary: Ron Weasley thought things couldn't get any worse when his wife left him and seven years of tragedy finally came to a head. Then he found out a series of secrets that proved it was only the beginning.
1. Kitchen Revelations

Author's Note: This was a totally random idea inspired by totally random things. This is my first attempt to write about the Weasleys, so I don't know if I'll be able to finish it or if it will have any plot whatsoever. The Sons of Thunder deals with our dear seven from Harry's generation, revealing some things I invented to have happen to them after the War to shake things up a bit.. Enjoy and review!

Augusta

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize from Harry Potter or anywhere else besides my own head.

**Chapter One: Kitchen Resolutions**

Ron walked through the Burrow's narrow front door into the kitchen, half-asleep from exhaustion. Another long day at the office, slaving away so there would be bread on the table. He was beginning to understand why his father's hair had began to fall out so early in his life. "Hermione, I'm home!" he shouted. There was no answer. The house was unusually quiet. Even with everyone but him and Hermione and their kids gone, it shouldn't have been that quiet. " Hermione?" Old fears from the long years of the Second War tried to resurface, but he quelled them sternly. There were no Death Eaters left, making it impossible that one had murdered his wife and kids.

" Mum's not here," he heard a light, silvery voice say. Turning around, he saw his eldest daughter Helena standing in the door to the living room. _God, I feel old,_ he found himself thinking irrelevantly. _Lena'll go to Hogwarts next year._

" Where is she, then?" he asked.

" I don't know. She just...left. You know how Mum does sometimes, Dad. She'll start yelling about how she's not going to take it anymore and storm out and go to Uncle Harry's for a few days, then she'll come back and be Mum again." Helena said it as matter-of-factly as if she had said Hermione had gone to the store to buy bread and milk. There was something wrong with that, a child considering her mother walking out to be a perfectly normal occurance. " I took care of the others. They're okay. Nicky started crying when Mum didn't come when he called her, but I calmed him down. "

" She's got to stop doing this," he muttered, more to himself than Helena. Hermione did this every few months, this disappearing act of hers. The first time it had happened had been when she was suffering from postpartum depression after their second child, Chloe, was born, but more and more often she just seemed to snap. "I know you took care of them, baby," he told Helena tiredly. "You always do."

" Mum told me to give you this when you got home. I don't know what it says." she handed him a folded note, magically sealed. More than a little apprehensive, he tapped it with his wand and read the short message that his wife deigned to bestow on him:

_My attorney will be in touch. I'm not going to do this anymore. I'll see you in court. Don't try to find me._

_-Hermione_

Ron buried his head in his hands. " Oh, shit," he muttered. " Oh, _shit_!" The short, choppy sentances were what convinced him that this time Hermione wasn't bluffing or just out of her head for a while. After eleven years and four kids, Hermione was actually walking out. For all he knew, she was getting the papers drawn up and organizing her arguments for the house, the kids, and the broomstick, making herself charts on how to get what little her soon-to-be ex-husband still had the same way she had made charts on what subjects to study what nights and how long to work with them. He'd married the first girl he ever kissed, so he didn't suppose it should really come as too much of a surprise that the marriage fell apart, but he wished it could have either done it before kids came into the picture at all or at the very least when there was only Lena and she was too little to understand what was going on. He found himself wishing desperately that this could be settled the way the early fights had been when they first became a couple and were first married-go to Harry when he wasn't neck deep in saving the world for ten minutes, shout and cry with him as the referee for a bit, then they would all just go have a drink to restore the uncomplicated affection that until quite recently had always been beween the three of them. He wished he didn't know that it wasn't going to work that way anymore, not least because he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen Harry. "She's finally gone," he mumbled, only half-aware that he was vocalizing the thought.

" Mum'll come back, Dad," Helena said stubbornly. " She will. She always does."

" I don't think Mum's coming back this time, baby," he said. " Do you know what a divorce is, Lena?"

" Yes. That's what Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny called it when they got un-married."

" Exactly. A divorce is where two people get un-married. That's what Mum wants to do."

" Why?"

" Damned if I know, sweetheart."

" You said a bad word, Daddy," Helena said reprovingly. " Mum doesn't let us say that word."

" I know, Lena. I'm sorry. I'm just upset because of Mum." Helena couldn't be his confessor. It just didn't work that way. Helena was a child-it was his job to protect her from this whole mess as much as humanely possible. She was going to catch the brunt of it anyway, being the only one who was old enough to understand what was happening. He'd be making a damn fine case for himself in the custody battle if the judge got wind that he wasn't good enough a father to protect his little girl from as much of the backlash as was possible. Knowing Hermione, he would. When Hermione decided she wanted to cut her losses, her losses were cut indeed.

" Listen, Helena Jane," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. " You don't worry about a thing, darling. Daddy's going to take care of it all. You don't worry your pretty little head about it, all right?"

" All right," Helena said trustingly. " I'll go tell the others you're home. I've still got a few books Mum gave me on my birthday I haven't read yet, so I'll be up in my room until dinner, Dad."

" That's all right. I'll attempt to cook."

Helena pretended to gag. " Ugh. Food poisoning? That's a bit of a low way to try to kill someone, Dad."

" Hey! I am a very good cook, thank you very much."

" Yeah, sure," Helena said skeptically, then darted off giggling before Ron could reply. It was for Helena and her siblings that he had fought in the War, though none of them had been born in the earliest years and Helena only two when it ended, so that they could be so trusting and so they could giggle and just be kids the way he hadn't been able to. He could still recall that first year of the War, directly after Voldemort's resurrection, when the Ministry had gone berserk and Harry, with no more aid than Ron and Hermione, had single-handedly turned a group of terrified school kids into an organized fighting unit bent on the destruction of the Dark Forces. That tiny ring of students had been the foremost generals in the later years of the War, when most of the old timers were either dead or incapacitated. Harry had resurrected the program in a slightly varied form when he became a teacher, the first successful Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in decades. It had been unexpected but not that surprising to Ron that Harry retired from active duty as an Auror after the War and started teaching the one subject he could even beat Hermione in.

He started to think about the past. It hadn't been that long ago that he, Harry, and Hermione were inseparable. He could still remember sitting in the Common Room with Harry directly after their N.E.W.T.'s, bemoaning the mistakes they had made, mistakes that Hermione would never hear of when she returned from her exams. He could see himself and Harry dashing into a girl's bathroom to save Hermione from a troll in their first year as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. How had they been driven apart? Hermione was filing for divorce and he couldn't remember the last time him and Harry just had a beer and listened to a Quidditch game on the WWN. Looking up, he caught a glimse of himself in the talking mirror over the mantle. He couldn't find a trace of the ambitious and optimistic boy who had left Hogwarts with the girl he considered the prettiest girl in the place as his fiancee, a best friend who would stick by him though anything, and a little light at the end of the tunnel. The worst part of it was that he knew he had unconsiously ruined that himself.

"If you're expecting me to tell you you're pretty you're wasting your time," the mirror said. Ron would always believe that Fred and George had enchanted the mirror themselves, because Ron had never heard it make a comment that wasn't an insult. Thinking about Fred and George was even more painful than thinking of his own diminshment, so he cut that line of thought off quickly. Fred and George were the family secrets, not to be thought of or mentioned.

Sitting there at his kitchen table with the ghost of his own past tormenting him and his adult life in ruins around him, Ron Weasley resolved to turn things around. He wouldn't challenge the divorce, but he was going to regain his two best friends and his own self-respect if it was the last thing he did.


	2. A Day Off

Author's Note: Just to clear up any confusion, I am not intending for any of the characters to be what is termed 'out of character'. They've just changed because of all the stuff they've been through. Not sure if that's explained clearly enough in the story, so I thought I'd note it.

Augusta

**Chapter Two: A Day Off**

Ron firecalled in sick to work the next morning, deciding that while it wouldn't kill the department to do without him for a day, he might just kill someone in the department if he didn't take his first day off in about six months. The kids, quiet and subdued by their mother's sudden and unexplained absence, ate their breakfast without the usual fussing and didn't complain when he told them they'd be spending the day with Aunt Fleur. Bill and Fleur had decided that his work at the bank brought in enough for Fleur to be a housewife for at least the time being, meaning that the French belle became the family babysitter almost overnight.

Fleur looked surprised to see him. "Ron? What is it?" Fleur's English might have been much better than it had been when he met her, but she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. " Has something 'appened?"

"Nothing more than the usual Weasley Drama of the Week," Ron said, trying to sound light. "It's my turn to be the tragic hero again. Hermione's...having one of her episodes." For some reason, he didn't want to tell Fleur and the rest of the family that Hermione had finally walked out for good just yet. They would all know soon enough anyway. "Can you look after the kids for a few hours?"

Fleur winced. "Ah! Yes, of course I will look after the little ones. Hermione should not do this so often, Ron. Why does she do it? It does not make sense to me."

"It makes perfect sense to me, Fleur. Hermione can't stand who she is and what her place in the world is, so she tries to escape from it. She's not the same woman I married."

"It will be well in the end," Fleur said with a pathetic attempt at sounding reassuring.

"Of course," he said, giving his sister-in-law a smile that felt more like a grimace. "I won't be long-there's someone I have to see."

"Take your time," Fleur said. "We all get along very well, don't we, children?"

"Yes, Aunt," they chorused. Nicky ran to her and hugged her skirts and Fleur smoothed his auburn hair affectionatley. Helena, Chloe, and Adam were more reserved, but they were clearly as happy as their younger brother to be somewhere that was still the way it was the day before. Fifteen minutes later, Ron was ringing the doorbell to a house he hadn't entered in almost four years.

"How may I help you this-" the maid who opened the door began, then she saw his hair. "Oh, you're a Weasley." She slammed the door in his face.

"Bette, open the door." He hadn't expected his last name to win him any favors; Harry hadn't seemed to hold much of a grudge over Ginny eloping to Germany with Colin Creevey, but the servants, all of whose families had served the wealthier branches of the Potters for two generations at least, had been up in arms against any and everyone associated with the Weasleys.

"You're not welcome here," Bette shouted back.

"Bette, I had nothing to do with my sister skipping town. I was beginning the process of becoming a hopeless workaholic when she did that, so I didn't have time to find out what was up with Ginny. Just open the door. I need to talk to Harry."

The door opened a crack, revealing Bette's scowling face. "What for?"

"Old times. It's important."

"Wait here. I'll have to clear it with Dobby." Bette was about to slam the door again when he caught it.

"Dobby? Not Dobby the house-elf?"

"Weasley, I never knew until now that you were a genius. What other Dobby is there? He's chief of staff." While Bette was explaining something Ron already knew, he managed to wrench the door away from her and get inside.

"If I'm going to be kept waiting," he said impatiently. "Then the least you can do for me is let me do so is out of the sun. It's August and hot, if you haven't noticed."

Bette's scowl deepened. He could tell she had meant to leave him on the doorstep until he gave up and went away. "All right, Weasley," she snapped. "You win. Follow me." He still remembered his way around, but he decided that it would be better to keep his mouth shut for the time being.

"Dobby, Weasley here wants to see Mr. Potter," Bette said shortly to the house-elf when they reached Harry's second-floor office.

The house-elf smiled widely, though he didn't jump up as he once would have. Age and more and more time being free had calmed Dobby down a little from the way he had been when Ron was in school. "Wheezy!" he said.

"Dobby, are you ever going to learn to say my name properly?"

"Dobby probably is not, sir, though Dobby will try. How does sir wish for his name to be said?"

"Weasley. Or you can just call me Ron, you've certainly known me long enough."

"Dobby will try to remember. What can Dobby do for you, sir?" Bette cleared her throat loudly with disapproval and Dobby looked at her. "Yous can go back to your work now, Bette. Dobby will take care of it now." Bette bobbed her head reluctantly and left.

"I need to talk to Harry, Dobby. It's sort of important."

"Harry Potter is in a meeting with Miss Gabrielle right now, sir, though Dobby is sure he will see you after that," the elf said reassuringly. "He is often saying to Dobbyhow much he misses his old friends."

"Do not try to guilt trip me, Dobby. Who's Miss Gabrielle?"

"She is being a French friend of Harry Potter's." Dobby said it very matter-of-factly, as if he saw nothing unusual about a get-together with a friend being called a meeting, and Ron realized he and Hermione hadn't been the only ones to change. Fifteen years ago, Harry would have thought the idea ridiculous. Ron heard feminine laughter from the room beyond.

_Harry with a girlfriend. Hermione's probaby ready to have a cow._ There wasn't much doubt in Ron's mind that his estranged wife had hidden herself away here, the same as always. The only difference between this time and all the others would be the end result more than it would be the details. Hermione only had one friend in the world besides her soon-to-be ex, and that was Harry. There wasn't really anywhere else she could go when she decided to run away from home. Ron found it strangely ironic that he, the hotheaded, bitter poor boy had been the one to settle down, and Hermione, the calm, collected civil rights activist had been the one to become a social climber. War and marriage did funny things to the head, sometimes, unless they were all just nutters to begin with.

Fifteen minutes later, a tall, slim woman with silver-white hair like Fleur's walked out of the office, smiling to herself. Ron got a look at her face and immediately changed his mind about his small scruples over his best friend finally giving up on Ginny ever coming back. Gabrielle had looks to die for, the same stunning, Veela-like beauty that Fleur possessed. France apparently had a higher number of part-Veela citizens than he had originally thought. She bid Dobby goodbye but didn't seem to notice Ron. In any other Wizarding home, that would have been considered absolute lunacy, but Harry wasn't quite like any other wizard of their times. He did things his own way-the one respect in which he _definitely _had not changed.

Dobby darted into the office. Ron could hear his squeaking voice saying something, then he reappeared. "Yous can go in now, Wheezy," Dobby said, apparently already forgetting his agreement to try to remember Ron's name.

Whatever Ron had been expecting, it wasn't what he found. In a sharp contrast to Gabrielle, who had been dressed to the nines, Harry looked almost relaxed in jeans and a sweater Ron recognized as being knitted by his own mother. He also looked much older than he had the last time they had met. "Harry?"

"This is a surprise," Harry said, straigtening his glasses. "Sit down." Ron noticed that the old scar that had made him famous had still not faded after all these years. He laughed.

"I'm as surprised as you are, believe me. Never thought I'd have the guts to show my face here again."

"I never held how the marriage-er-ended against the family, Ron. I still consider the Weasleys to be the closest thing to kin I'll ever have."

"We don't hold it against you either." Ron fished around for something to change the subject with. "Who was the woman?"

"You mean Gabrielle? We're friends." Ron raised an eyebrow and Harry laughed. "Really, Ron, nothing else. I wouldn't subject Gabrielle to the horrors of a romantic relationship with me."

"How'd you meet?"

"Technically, we met when you and I were in fourth year. Gabrielle Delacour was the hostage Fleur was unable to reach, so..." Harry shrugged with an apologetic grin. "I played hero and saved her. We met again at an art opening during the Christmas holidays."

"She's Fleur's sister? All I remember about that day is Fleur kissing us and Hermione getting jealous. What were you doing at an art opening?"

"I teach classes for most of the year and then I attend art openings and galas during the holidays. I've got myself a real double life nowadays. As for Fleur kissing us, I remember that well enough. Gabrielle joined Colin and Ginny in hero-worshipping me from then on out. I think it rather surprised her to discover I was human." A sudden silence fell when it hit them both that Harry had mentioned Colin and Ginny. It was Harry who broke it. "How are they these days, anyway?" He tried to sound offhanded but failed miserably. He might not have loved Ginny anymore, but that apparently hadn't stopped it from bothering him that she had disappeared from his life entirely.

"Colin's got a big job photographing old magical sites in Rome for the _Magical Historian_. Ginny is thoroughly enjoying travelling the world with him, sending us letters from more countries than I can remember with pictures and calling herself Ginevra. They're all right." Ron hesitated, but then decided that this was as good an opening into what he had meant to talk about as he was going to get. "Harry-I really don't have any right to ask this, but don't bite my head off anyway-what was it like when you and Gin got divorced?"

He thought Harry wasn't going to answer for a minute. "Pure hell. That's the best description I can come up with. We never should have married in the first place, not the way we did, and I certainly didn't think of Ginny as much besides a sister in the end,but I guess I just got used to being married to her. I don't think I would have minded so much if she'd been straight with me from the beginning, but..." Harry shrugged again. "So it goes in my melodramatic life. Why?"

"Hermione's pulling the same stunt as we speak." Harry's brows drew together sharply.

"What?"

"I come home from work yesterday and find the house quiet as a tomb. Helena comes up, says Hermione left, reminds me once again that the task of taking care of her sister and brothers fell on her in the absense of proper parents, and then handed me a note from Hermione informing me that her attorney would be in touch."

Harry winced sympathetically. "Ouch. Do you know where she is? Maybe I could go talk some sense into her."

Ron stared. He could tell Harry wasn't covering for Hermione-he really didn't know where she was. "I thought she was here," he said finally. "This is where she always comes when she has one of her episodes."

"She knew I'd talk her out of it," Harry muttered, more to himself than Ron. "She was determined to have her way this time and she knew I'd talk her out of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Hermione always comes barging in here like I'm her shrink instead of her friend, raving that she's had it, she's getting a divorce and nothing's going to stop her. First I give her some cognac to calm her nerves, then I start talking about something totally unrelated until she's unwound a bit. I then put her through the one-week fail-safe Harry Potter Temporary Affect Marriage Saving Program and she returns to her husband and children until the next time she decides to go a bit psycho on us.It's almost as mundane as murder attempts now."

"So you're the reason we've held on this long."

"Not really. I just periodically remind Hermione of how much she loves you and the kids. That's all. "

"Why?"

"Because in spite of everything, Ron-Ginny, Fred, George, the whole fiasco we three have called lives-I still think of you two idiots as the best friends I have ever had or ever will have." For a moment it was almost as if more than three long years of not speaking out of mutual chaotic lives and a mutual feeling of discomfort after the whole Ginny affair had never happened, then Dobby stuck his head around the door.

"Harry Potter, sir, the Deputy Minister is here."

"All right, Dobby," Harry said, retreating into his role of the schoolteacher-politician with an ease he had never had in the early years he had been forced to play such roles, especially the second. "It was good seeing you again, Ron."

"Yeah. I'll see you, mate." He was almost out the door when a thought struck him. "Hey, Harry, what're you doing this Saturday?"

Harry seemed confused by the question. "Nothing right now, but I expect that my schedule will be full by the time Saturday gets here."

"Forget that, it's being filled now. You and I are going to drink beer, talk women, and listen to Quidditch like we did in the old days."

Harry looked momentarily surprised, then grinned. "You're on. We've both more than earned a day off from what I can tell."


	3. Katherine Mendoza

Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay! My computer was down for a while, but it's back up and running now, along with the story.

Augusta

**Chapter Three: Katherine Mendoza**

When he got back to Fleur and Bill's place, he found Fleur talking to a very professional-looking woman at the kitchen table. The Frenchwoman looked a little skeptical about her companion. The second woman's head whipped around when she noticed they were no longer alone, fixing him with a hard, challenging stare.

Ron found himself subconsciously checking her out. Pretty enough, he supposed, dark hair with blondish streaks in it, light olive complexion, almost black eyes. She looked like she might be part Spanish, but he wasn't sure. She also had to have a well-paying job to afford her clothes-there was probably more money on her back in that one outfit than he spent on clothes in a year. After a long moment, she stood and extended her hand.

"The name's Mendoza," she said, her voice almost as hard as her eyes. "Katherine Mendoza. I'm your attorney."

"I don't have an attorney," Ron replied as politely as he could manage. He could already tell that Katherine Mendoza was one of those women who possessed a natural talent for getting on his absolute last nerve no matter what either of them said or did-one of those hard, unsmiling women who thought men were the scum of the earth as a matter of principle.

"You do now, Weasley," Katherine said flatly, putting down her still unshook hand. "I wouldn't give you the time of day, but an old friend asked me to as a favor to her. You're stuck with me until your divorce is finalized." She didn't look as if she were any happier about the idea than he was.

"Let me get this straight," he said. "You and my wife are friends and she hired you as my attorney?"

"Precisely. Hermione knows I'm the best in my field and she knows you're going to need all the help you can get when things really do get ugly. I owe her one, so I agreed to help you out." Her gaze intensified, if that was possible. "You should be grateful to her, Weasley. Hermione knows perfectly well that friends or no friends, I play to win and I do win."

"We'll see about that in court, won't we, Mendoza?" Ron replied sarcastically. A charity lawyer. Great. Hermione really wasn't pulling any punches, attacking his pride before she even filed the papers.

"Watch your mouth around me or you might find your teeth being knocked down your throat," Katherine said almost cheerfully. "I have very few male clients who win my respect. I seriously doubt that you're going to be one of them." He had been right; she was one of Hermione's feminist friends. He normally didn't have anything in particular against them, but Mendoza was clearly one of those who went around with her nose in the air and that holier-than-thou air almost visible around her.

She was fiddling with the clasps of a briefcase. "The first thing to determine is how we want the assets divided," she said matter-of-factly. "Hermione told me she wants to settle as much of this out of court as she can, particuarly in regards to the children. Children are the most difficult assets to win totally in a divorce, especially for a man. Your best chance as far as they go would be to agree to giving Hermione custody, because no court in England, Muggle or magical, is going to side with you over her when you take into account that it's standard policy to grant the mother custody and your schedule. If you let her have them, she probably won't keep you from them altogether. For an otherwise practical woman, Hermione can be very sentimental." Katherine sounded like she thought the less of Hermione for it.

"Not a chance in hell," he said flatly. "Not a chance, Mendoza. Hermione's as likely as not to run off some fine day and not tell anyone. She hasn't exactly qualified for mother of the year with any of the kids. "

"Hermione's tendancy to abandon the homefront when she's under stress is the greatest weapon you have against her, but all she has to do is agree to see a shrink and that'll probably be considered taken care of. Who'd take care of them while you're working if they're not living with Hermione?"

"Me," Fleur said firmly. Ron jumped a little; he had forgotten that his sister-in-law was there. "I 'ave nothing to do all day but watch after the little ones in this family. I do this all the time for all the family."

Mendoza shook her head. "Not good enough. Wouldn't be accepted in court. The children aren't the only assets involved, however, so I think we should move on for the time being to-" she never got to finish her sentance because just then Chloe and Adam came barging in, yelling and obviously furious at each other. Helena was running after them, trying to separate them. Looking at her harrassed face, he suddenly realized that Helena was the only one of the four to bear anoticeable resemblance to Hermione. Mendoza looked shocked, and Fleur jumped up and started scolding them in French, which caused them to cease fighting simply because they didn't have a clue what she was saying and found it amusing to listen to her rant in a language that seemed impossibly silly to them.

"I'll be in touch," Mendoza said shortly, then picked up her briefcase and left. Ron couldn't help but grin. Katherine Mendoza and Hermione Granger had both badly miscalculated if they expected the Weasleys to be an easy piece of work.


	4. Unexpected Conversations

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait!

Augusta

**Chapter Four: Unexpected Conversations**

Neither Katherine Mendoza or Hermione or Hermione's still disturbingly silent attorney made any further moves in the direction of actually getting papers filed or going to court or any of the other technicalities Ron had been expecting them to do as quickly as possible. It made him more nervous than if all three of them had been assailing him on an hourly basis. The only thing he could compare the feeling to was that of the night before battle: that feeling that he was standing beneath the crest of a wave that was going to come down and crush him sooner or later, probably sooner. It put him on edge, making him snap at any and all of his coworkers who spoke to him, no matter what they were saying. On Friday, he suddenly realized he had been yelling at his boss for five minutes without realizing who she was. Lavender took it in stride, though, and instead of showing him the door asked him, quite pleasantly, if he was trying to get fired.

"No," he said shortly, greatly embarrassed. "Lavender, I apologize, I do. That was uncalled for."

"It certainly was," Lavender said. "What's up?"

"My wife's leaving me, my lawyer just so happens to be one of her friends she likes to have tea and crumpets with, and all my surviving siblings have lost their minds. In short, the past seven years have finally come to a bloody head at a very inconvenient time."

Lavender stared. "Hermione...oh, I'm so sorry," she said, sounding as if it were genuine. "I always thought you two would work it out somehow, but then, I thought the same about Harry and Ginny and me and Seamus." She laughed shortly, fingering her wedding ring. Ron frowned. He had never heard of there being any disharmony between the Finnigans, but Lavender didn't seem to have realized she had said something strange and he thought it would be better just to let it slide. "I think it would have been better for us if the War had gone on forever, in some ways. Not every way, certainly, but in some." She shook her head. "Never mind. The issue is your-er-temper." She tilted her head back to look at him better. "My secretary was in hysterics after you told her good morning the other day. Magical Law Enforcement is about to fall off their little pedastals in shock over that fight you had with Bettina Mayes last week. You seriously need a vacation."

"I know, Lavender, but I don't have the time or money for one." His voice lowered almost to a whisper on that. It was still difficult to mention his family's delicate financial situation.

"You do now," Lavender said. "For the common good of everyone, especially you, you have now got the time to take a vacation. I don't want to see you back in this whole complex for at least a month. Call me an unusually generous boss. As for the money, don't worry about it. I'll pull some strings."

"I don't think the Minister is going to like that very much, Lavender."

"You leave the Minister to me," she said calmly. "I can handle the Minister. Every woman in the Ministry knows how to handle the Minister. All you have to do is flirt with him, though I hear Caryn Lyons got her position on the Wizengamot by sleeping with him. That's all rumor, of course. The Ministry is even more corrupt than it was when we were kids." She smiled almost fondly at the memories of their childhoods. "Anyway, I'll adjust the schedules. Finish up for today, then you're off until I say you aren't." She smiled.

"God bless you, Lavender," he said gratefully, turning back to the papers he had been studying before Lavender interrupted him.

"Oh, don't think I'm doing this without expecting something in return, Ron," she said. "I'm a woman. We always have alterior motives. You owe me dinner next week."

Ron wasn't entirely sure he was hearing right. "Lavender, you're married," he said, stating the obvious for lack of anything more creative.

"Yeah, and so are you," she said, shrugging. "Seamus has stood me up repeatedly over the past few weeks and Hermione's probably not around much if she's filing for divorce. I said I wanted you to take me to dinner, not come to bed with me." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you need to work on your technicalities, Ron. As long as kissing and sex are out of the picture, it's not cheating. At least not in my book. "

"I think I'll start reading your book," he said.

"So you will take me to dinner?"

"Why not? It'll be a talking point, at least. I can hear what all the gossips will be saying: old Ron Weasley, having an affair with his boss. It could be worse."

"You of all people should know that it could always be worse," Lavender said matter-of-factly.

* * *

Ron was only a little surprised when Harry actually did turn up for the game the next day. Dobby the Datebook had put it down as an appointment, and Ron had heard in interdepartment gossip at the Ministry that Harry was very good about keeping his appointments. The only thing about his appearance that surprised Ron was that he still had his priorities straight enough to make time for old school friends. Regardless of how strange his life grew, Harry was Harry.

The game was Chudley Cannons hosting Wimbourne Wasps. Lee Jordan, now the official commentator for all Quidditch games played in England or the Isles, was calling out player names when Harry frowned and leaned towards the radio. "Ron," he said slowly. "Do we know the commentator?"

Ron looked at his friend in puzzlement, trying to find the punch line of the joke, and then realized that Harry was serious. "Yeah, Harry," he said. "That's Lee. Lee Jordan. Remember? Dreadlocks, had a tarantula when we were in first year, Hogwarts commentator, good friends with Fred and George."

"Lee," Harry said, as if he had no clue what Ron was on about but was determined to bluff it out. "Was there ever anything to do with a statue of Gregory the Smarmy or something like that?"

"I don't know. I can't remember little things like that. It must not have been a very big joke."

"It's all jumbled up." Ron got the strangest feeling that Harry wasn't talking to him, so he didn't reply. Harry shook his head again, then shrugged. The Wasps scored a goal. "You still haven't given up on the idea the Cannons will win a game yet, Ron?"

"I'm still holding on to hope for them," he said. "I'm a Weasley. I support the Cannons because they're a once-great team in decline and the Weasleys are a once-great family on the decline." He jumped when Harry swore loudly.

"Dammit! Why can't I remember?" Once again Ron had the feeling that Harry wasn't talking to him, but this time he decided to answer.

"Is something up, Harry?"

"I'm not insane, not yet anyway," Harry said bluntly, seeing straight through the rather feeble cover just as Ron had known he would. "I had an...accident...a few years ago, all very covered up, no press. My memory's been messed up ever since. I only remember snatches of the past, and I forget things a lot. The only thing I have total recall of is the one thing I'd like to forget most-the War.It's funny-I can remember to go somewhere and how to get there, but the next day I won't remember going. If I didn't have Kate and Dobby, I don't know how I'd manage." He shrugged as if walking around without a clue where you had just been was of no consequence.

"Kate?"

"Kate Mendoza. She's my lawyer, but she's also nice enough to tell me what in the hell I've been doing. Her version of it, anyway." He laughed shortly. "Kate's a self-seeking woman, but I am fond of her."

"Mendoza!" Ron said, staring. "Don't tell me Katherine Mendoza works for you, too!"

"Call her Katherine and you'll find out that she hits hard," Harry said. "She hates that name."

"I think she just hates everything in general," Ron said. "Hermione hired her as my divorce attorney."

"Oh, God," Harry said, choking on a laugh. "You're in for one hell of a time. Kate won't be happy until you are completely and totally at her mercy, then she'll start being nice and sisterly. It's the Spanish in her." Harry said it almost fondly!

"Please do not tell me you and Mendoza are an item, Harry."

"We were about two years ago," Harry said matter-of-factly. "You get comfortable with a person when that person happens to act as your memory. Didn't last, though. We're neither of us the sort to get attatched, though Kate is my self-declared sister now."

"There'll be a family feud if she ever decides she wants to be my sister," Ron said. "My opinion of Katherine or Kate or Mendoza or whatever the hell she wants to be called is that she's a card-carrying, unredeemable member of the bitch club."

"She'll be a bitch for the first six months you know her or until you get into real trouble. If the six months runs out, then she becomes charming. If you get in trouble, she's a princess, she really is. I know from personal expirience." Ron noticed that Harry didn't mention what sort of trouble he had gotten into. "Birdy's ten now, isn't she?" he asked suddenly. It took Ron a minute to remember that Harry had always, for reasons that eluded her father, called Helena Birdy.

"Yeah, ten and a quarter," he said. "Why?"

"She'll be at Hogwarts next fall, then...I probably won't survive the next seven years, between her and Luciana Malfoy."

"Who's Luciana Malfoy?"

"Our old friend Draco's daughter," Harry said matter-of-factly. "She starts next year, too. Illegitimate, but they say she's as haughty as any other pureblood. The Malfoy strain, you know. Her mother was one of the Wright girls, making her, sadly, one of my cousins. My paternal grandmother was a Wright."

"Dear God," Ron groaned. "Lena, a Malfoy, and seven years. You'll be old before your time, my friend, especially since you teach the class where they get to learn hexes and such."

"Oh, well," Harry said, shrugging. "It might as well be Birdy who gives me gray hairs as the next one."

"She's a good kid," Ron said. "Can't believe she's mine, sometimes." It was true. He had never understood Helena one little bit, but he loved her to the point of jumping in front of a train for her if need be, or the other three. He never ceased to marvel at everything they did, trying to figure out how on earth they got their looks, their personalities, their eccentric habits. Sometimes, when Chloe and Adam got into one of their spectacular fights, he was twenty years younger watching Fred and Percy go at it. When Helena was curled up on the couch with a new book, serious and so concentrated she hardly knew what was going on around her, he could swear he was back at Hogwarts and Hermione was rereading _Hogwarts, A History_ for the hundreth time in the common room. Nicky's endearing habit of pronouncing the letter "c" as "t" was pure Ginny, though she had outgrown it before she was quite as big as Nicky. In those four, he could find all the people who time and death and tragedy had taken away from him again, even Percy and his parents, if he looked hard enough.

Harry's next comment came out a blue sky. "If I asked you to do something for me that might lead to Ginny...er...becoming rather upset with both of us, would you even consider it?"

Ron stared. "Huh?"

"I've been waiting on her to come out with her little secret for four years," Harry said, his voice perfectly calm but the harsh marks of tension very clear in his face. "Her dirty secret, you might say. You know what I'm talking about, though I don't blame you for keeping your mouth shut. I would have, in your shoes. After all, she is your sister." Harry's smile was very sardonic. "Yes, Ginny was smart to keep clear those first two years, you know. I would have reacted as a man rather than as a politician if she hadn't."

"Mate, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"What?" It was Harry's turn to stare. "You're serious? She never told _you?_ I would have thought you'd be the only person Ginevra would trust with that particular piece of information."

Ron shook his head. "Gin's been distant ever since Fred and George...you know..."

"Died," Harry supplied helpfully. "Yes, that did change things for all of us, some more than others." That was too much to let pass.

"Harry, what in the hell's going on?"

Harry laughed without a trace of amusement. "Ask Kate, ask Hermione. Hell, ask Ginny if you've got the nerve. But don't ask me. I don't remember a damn thing about what happened except that something did happen." There was a pause, then Harry seemed to visibly relax, as if making an effort to remove the element of tension that had become prevalent. "How's Amelia, anyway?" he asked.

Ron wasn't willing to drop the prior subject so easily, but something told him he didn't have much of a choice. "Amelia's as well as she ever is these days," he said. His sister-in-law was almost as depressing a topic as Fred and George, given that she was George's widow. No one had a clue who Amelia was or how she came to be involved with George Weasley. George had just brought her around for dinner one evening and thrown in that they were married during dessert. Not even Fred had known about her beforehand. Less than a month later, Fred and George were both dead and Amelia had never gotten over it. "Last time I saw her was about two months ago, but I know she's not dead because Fleur hasn't told me the date of her funeral yet. As long as Amelia's alive, she's doing well."

"With her, I guess you're right. I'll have to drop in some time. I'll drag her to all of this summer's galas and art openings to resocialize her or something." Harry stood, glancing at his watch. "I've got a meeting with some German-" a vague waving-aside gesture said quite plainly that Harry didn't recall who the German was or what he had to do with anything-"who has some offer in about fifteen minutes," he said. "You'll have to tell me who won sometime." It took Ron a minute to realize that Harry was talking about the Quidditch match.

"Sure," he said. "Come back sometime."

"If I remember," Harry said, his voice heavy with irony.

For the remainder of the Quidditch match, Ron was so preoccupied with trying to analyze all the half-facts he had been presented with that he never realized the Cannons had somehow pulled ahead until Lee Jordan announced that they had just won their first game in years.


	5. Memorial Day

**Chapter Five: Memorial Day**

Three days later, Ron knew that there was something important he had forgotten from the minute he woke up, but it wasn't until after he broke up Chloe and Adam's attempt to see who could throw an intact handful of scrambled eggs the furthest that he remembered what it was. It was the seventh anniversary of Fred and George's deaths. He found himself thanking God that Hermione wasn't there. She always went even weirder than normal when that particular anniversary rolled around every year. Besides, he knew that he was going to have more than enough to put up with without Hermione making things even worse.

He wasn't altogether surprised when Ginny came sauntering in without so much as a by-your-leave, though he was slightly disappointed. Percy had almost nothing to do with the family, Charlie never left Romania at all these days, Bill was in Sweden on bank business and couldn't get off, Fleur was suffering from a summer cold, Harry probably wouldn't feel comfortable with showing up, Amelia rarely left her house, Hermione wasn't likely to come where he was, and Ron had hoped Ginny would stay wherever she had been so he wouldn't have to observe what she had dubbed 'Memorial Day', where they all gathered at the graves of their parents and brothers. No such luck. She was carrying a suitcase in one manicured hand, leading a little boy by the other, and looking around the kitchen of her old home curiously, as if she had never been there before in her life and found the house interesting. Oddly enough, it was Chloe who recognized her first.

"Aunt Ginny!" she exclaimed. Helena, who had not recognized her immediately, looked mortified. Adam and Nicky looked curious. Chloe herself looked devilish. "That's a pretty dress you're wearing, Aunt Ginny," she said, and Ron moved faster than he thought he ever could to snatch the bowl of oatmeal in front of her away before she threw some of it straight at Ginny's pretty dress and set off an explosion of Ginny's not-so-pretty temper.

Ginny looked down at her dress appreciatevely. It was long, vivid blue, sequined, and obviously expensive. Ron privately thought she looked like a hooker in it, but decided it was better to leave that opinion unvoiced. "Thank you, darling," she said. "But don't call me Aunt Ginny. My name is Ginevra."

"Ginmembra?" Adam said, and Chloe went into a spell of laughter that only ended when Adam punched her. The two would have begun fighting, but Helena stopped them with a look. Lena had been taking too much on herself since Hermione left. He would have to do something about that. He was about to force himself to welcome his sister when Nicky got up from the table and walked over to the little boy still holding on to Ginny's hand, who appeared to be about the same age.

"I'm Nicky," he said. "Want to play?"

The other boy, who had ducked behind Ginny as soon as he registered that Nicky was in fact talking to him, stuck his head back around her knees. "Are you one of my cousins?" he asked shyly.

Nicky looked as if he were puzzling over the strange new word _cousin_ and then shrugged. " I dunno." He tugged on Ginny's skirt. "Am I one of his cousins?"

Ginny laughed. "Of course you are," she said. "Do you know what a cousin is, Nicky?"

"No," Nicky admitted promptly.

"Well, your daddy is my brother and I'm his sister, just like Adam is your brother and Helena and Chloe are your sisters. That makes me your aunt and it makes my son your cousin. Arthur, come around and meet your cousin Nicky." Ginny smiled kindly at Nicky. "Arthur is just your age, so I'm hoping the two of you can be very good friends," she said. "He doesn't have any brothers and sisters."

Ginny's son came finally emerged from behind her, and Ron had to bite his tongue hard to keep from yelling aloud with shock.

Arthur's eyes were the same pale blue as Ginny's, a color that could look either crystal or stone depending on the light and his mood. Other than that, he bore no obvious resemblance to his mother. Nor did he look at all like Colin Creevey. As a matter of fact, there was only one person Ron knew who Arthur Creevey _did_ look like, and Arthur's face could have been a portrait of that man when he was much younger. Arthur looked exactly like Harry.

Dimly, Ron remembered what Harry had said while they were discussing Ginny the day of the Cannons match: _I've been waiting on her to come out with her little secret for four years. Her dirty secret, you might say._ He hadn't known what Harry was talking about then, but he knew now. This shy little boy clinging to Ginny's hand as Nicky tried to be friendly was Harry's son. There was no other explination. No child produced by Ginny and Colin would look like Arthur. There were very few other Potters left for Ginny to sleep with. The pieces all added up. Arthur Creevey was Harry Potter's son. He tore his eyes away from the boy's face and looked at his sister in disbelief.

Ginny knew immediately that the game was up. She flushed angrily, looking defensive, and called Helena, who had been staring at Arthur with the same shocked expression Ron knew had to be on his own face, over to her. A few murmured words, and Lena took over monitoring the two little boys while Ginny marched over to Ron and pulled him into the sitting room. "So," she said. "My deep dark secret is finally out." The look in her eyes was challenging; her whole manner suggested she was ready for a fight. She was not happy with him. "I was hoping for a few more years, but I couldn't find a sitter and Colin had to work. As long as my ex-husband doesn't find out, it'll still be all right. You're going to keep your mouth shut." It was not a request.

"Harry already knows," Ron managed. All the color drained from Ginny's face, and it was a mark of how shocked she was that her heavy makeup couldn't disguise how pale she had become.

"_What?_" She gave him no time to answer. "It can't be! He can't know! I took every precaution. This is the first time in Arthur's life anyone who could possibly know Harry had come into contact with him, besides Colin and I know Colin wouldn't betray me. He loves Arthur as if he really were his father. I've kept him hidden since he was born, because even then you could tell whose son he was. How? How?" Her voice had risen almost to a shriek by the end.

"Shhh. You'll upset the kids." Ginny threw him a murderous look and began pacing up and down. "Harry's been keeping some kind of surveillance on you for years, Gin," he said. "He knows."

"How do you know that?" Ginny asked.

"I know because he told me." Harry hadn't actually said that he was watching Ginny, and he hadn't said that he knew about Arthur, but Ron thought he could be forgiven the technicality. "Said he had been waiting for you to come out with your secret for four years. He didn't say this part, but I think he's about to get tired of waiting. I think he's about to try to force your hand."

"I won't lose my boy!" she snapped. "Arthur and Colin are all I've got in the world. I won't lose Arthur! I won't! I'll kill Harry first, I swear to God I will!" She was starting to sound hysterical again. "Arthur is _mine_," she said. "Mine. I carried him for nine months. I went through fourteen hours of hell to bring him into the world. I nursed him and taught him to walk and talk and-" she broke off, choking on a sob she tried to suppress.

"I don't think Harry would try to take Arthur away from you," Ron began, but Ginny cut him off.

"Use your head for once, Ron," she said. "_Harry _would never do something like that to me. Harry Potter would. Do you understand? The private man wouldn't want to hurt me and Arthur by separating us. The politician won't give a damn." She hesitated, looking troubled. "Something happened, Ron," she said. "Years ago. Something terrible. Harry doesn't really remember it, but he remembers enough to be a threat to me. He never trusted me again, at any rate. Any court in the world would take his side over mine if he tried to take Arthur, and if what happened isn't enough,well, paying off a judge isn't that hard to do. If you've got the money and the connections. He does. I don't. " Her eyes went from pale blue crystal to pale blue stone, and her dark lashes lowered to screen them. "I may kill him anyway," she said musingly, not really talking to Ron. "He made use of the strategy in the War, so he can hardly blame me for learning my lessons too well. Catch the enemy off-guard, before the enemy can rally its defenses. Only this time, there wouldn't be another battle. This time, it would all be over in a heartbeat, and I would be safe." She expelled a long breath. "Safe." Ron didn't think she was talking about the possiblity of losing Arthur anymore.

"Ginny, have you lost your mind?" he asked, not quite sure if he meant literally or not. "You're worried about losing Arthur. I understand that better than you think. But if you try kill Harry, you're sure to lose him, because you'll be in prison if you even survive the attempt. You know as well as I do that people who attack Harry usually don't come out of it in one piece." He was hoping to talk her out of whatever she was planning to do, because even if she didn't actually intend murder, she was definitely up to something that wouldn't go over well in a court of law. "I don't know what's going on, but-"

"That's right," she interrupted. "You don't. You know nothing about what's been going on under your nose for all these years, Ron. It started before the twins died, but you never saw it. It's still going on, and you still don't see it. You have no idea what you're dealing with, so I would advise you to keep your head down and your mouth shut. If you still can." She glanced out the window. "Let's get Memorial Day over with. I'm thinking of staying for a while, but first we have to get this over with."

Hermione's friend Cynthia arrived faithfully to watch the kids at the same time every year, so it was no surprise to either of them that she was already there when they emerged from the sitting room. She had all five kids gathered around her and was telling them a story. Arthur was sitting very close to Helena, as if afraid to move away from her, and her dark hair and his black made them stand out from the varying shades of red around them. For some reason, it frightened him that Helena and Arthur stood out from the others. Harry had said years earlier that, as his eldest godchild, Helena was first in line to inherit if he didn't have children and second if he did. Arthur was his semi-legitimate son, apparently born nine months after Harry and Ginny's divorce. Ginny started to move towards the door, but he touched her arm and she turned impatiently.

"What?"

"I'm going to take care of my kids no matter what happens," he said flatly. "You know that. I'll look out for Arthur as well, where I can. That boy's going to have enough troubles on his own without getting caught up in whatever the hell is going on."

Ginny almost smiled. "Thank you," she said. "There's not much you can do at this point, but...thanks, Ron."

They didn't speak again as they went outside and towards the hilltop that, in better days, had served as a makeshift Quidditch pitch. Now it served as a family burial plot since the old one had filled up. Molly, Arthur, Fred, and George were all buried there beneath the trees, within walking distance of the house they had once called home. Ron made it a practice to come up at least once a week, but he realized that he hadn't been in almost two weeks. It only mattered to him-Hermione had even been inclined to call him a nutter for walking all that way to look at some headstones- but he always felt guilty when he didn't.

Ginny, thanks to her two-inch heels and narrow-skirted dress, had a much harder time making her way up the hill than Ron did. He offered her a hand, but she shook her head and pushed on doggedly. They still didn't speak out of a sense of solemnity and tradition. There should have been a small crowd making its way towards the hill-Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, Ginny, Harry, Fleur, Amelia, and Hermione- but instead there was only Ron and Ginny. They were in for a surprise when they finally reached the small row of lost relatives. Three members of the family had already beaten them to it.

"I'm sorry," Amelia said in a choked voice to the other two, her mascara running down her cheeks as she cried. "It's very hard for me-"

"We understand, Emmie," Harry said soothingly, offering her a handkerchief. Hermione put her arm around Amelia's shoulders.

"What in the hell are you three doing here?" Ginny demanded. Ron knew her thoughts had just flown to Arthur, because his had just flown to Helena, Chloe, Adam, and Nicky. He should have known she would be here. It was always Hermione who told Cynthia to come. Why hadn't he thought of that? All three of them were staring at him and Ginny, and he found himself thinking again of the scene in the kitchen where Helena and Arthur stood out because there were two of them and three redheads. Now there were two redheads and three dark-haired people. Oddly appropriate.

Amelia dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. "We have as much of a right to be here as you do, Ginny," she said, and the look she gave Ginny was far from sisterly.

"She has a point," Ron muttered to Ginny. "They're family, too."

Ginny, however, wasn't looking at Amelia. "I'm surprised you'd show up here," she said to Harry, not pleasantly.

"Molly and Arthur were the closest thing I ever had to parents," Harry said, unaffected by his ex-wife's unfriendly demeanor. "Of course I came. I always do. I'm normally just more careful, that's all. You're looking well."

"I am well. It seems being thousands of miles away from you suits me." Ginny smiled sweetly. Harry might have flinched; Ron couldn't tell, given that he was trying to watch Harry, Amelia, and especially Hermione all at the same time. Hermione sighed.

"Look, we're not here to fight," she said, sounding tired. She was staring at a neutral point to her right that was just far enough off that she could plausibly say she hadn't noticed Ron standing there. "We're here to remember Molly and Arthur and Fred and George. Can we just do that, for now?" She still wasn't looking at anyone.

They all stood in silence for a few minutes, looking at the headstones and remembering the four people beneath them. Amelia was shaking with sobs, but she didn't make a sound. It was Hermione who broke the quiet, finally. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." She was staring at the single headstone Fred and George were buried beneath. The twins had been born on the same day and had died on the same day and had been buried together. Ron looked up and realized that everyone seemed to have different views on what they were to be doing. He was standing between the two plots, where everyone had once stood. Harry was standing more or less near Molly and Arthur, a little apart from everyone, apparently praying or something. The three women were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, all looking at Fred and George's grave with looks of physical pain on their faces. Even when they were gathered together to mourn, they were divided these days.

There wasn't much talking or remembering this year, though that was normally nine-tenths of Memorial Day. No one felt like dealing with the others. Hermione started to sweep off without a word after they disbanded, but Ron grabbed her arm without thinking it out first. "What do you want?" she asked coldly, as if they were strangers.

"Hermione-" What could he say to her? He knew it was useless to try to convince her to come back, but they had to talk. He knew that, and he was willing to bet she did, too. She didn't let him search for words very long.

"You don't have to worry about Cynthia," she said. "I don't have any choice but to leave the kids here, for now. Otherwise, I can reassure you that they wouldn't be there when you got back.I'm sleeping on my attorney's couch,though, so you get to keep them for a little longer."

"You know you're always welcome at my place, you know," Amelia chimed in. Hermione gave her a shallow smile.

"I know, Amy, but I'd rather stay where I can't be found." The look she gave Ron was considerably less friendly. "Kate should be approaching you with my offers soon. Mary wants to do most of this through Kate instead of her getting mixed up in it. Good evening." She Disapparated, leaving Ron standing there staring at where she had been a moment before. He stood there for a long time before someone-he wasn't sure who-shook him back into reality and he went back to the house.


	6. A Bundle of Letters

Author's Note: After some time of being unable to log in to my account, I've managed to get back in. Chapter Seven is complete and will be posted as soon as I have time; Chapter Eight is nearing completion. Enjoy!

Augusta

**Chapter Six: A Bundle of Letters**

Hermione had said that Katherine Mendoza would be approaching Ron with her offers soon, but she hadn't defined what 'soon' was. It didn't take Ron long to find out. She came marching into the Burrow as if she owned it at six-thirty the next morning, before Ron was even properly awake. He thought that the Wizengamot wouldn't convict a man who murdered his lawyer when she came yelling at him while he was half-asleep, but he managed to keep himself from testing the theory. Barely.

"Hermione's going after you with every resource she has," Mendoza said flatly. "She's gotten Mary Kennedy as her lawyer."

"Who's Mary Kennedy?"

"My worst nightmare, in a courtroom."

"I thought you were the best at what you do." No one could have missed the challenge in those words. Mendoza certainly didn't. Her eyes flashed angrily.

"I am, Weasley," she said. "But Mary has one asset I don't. She's from an old pureblood family with powerful connections. I'm from a pureblood family, but the Mendoza name doesn't carry much weight here in England. In Spain and parts of America, yes. In London and Edinburgh, no. The Kennedy name will win half of the battle for her."

"I don't give a damn what your last name is or where it carries weight," Ron said, feeling the old frustration at pureblood name-tossing. It was stupid, all of it. "I want my kids and preferably a roof to live under. If you can do that for me, I don't care if you're a Mendoza or a cross-eyed Clabbert. Actually, I don't much care anyway, but you know what I'm talking about."

Mendoza picked up her briefcase and opened it. "Yes," she said, with astonishing bitterness. "I do. I know what you're talking about." She paused, as if to collect herself, and Ron couldn't help but wonder what lay in Mendoza's past that would make her react so. She didn't let whatever it was bother her long, though. "At any rate," she said stiffly, "Here's Hermione's offer." She threw an official-looking document in front of him. Ron looked at it, but it made no sense.

After a few minutes, he looked up at Mendoza. "I have no idea what this is saying." That admission was almost painful, but it had to be made. If he didn't know what the offer was, he couldn't negotiate around it.

To his amazement, Mendoza didn't mock his lack of knowledge about legal matters or make some biting comment about stupid men not understanding the most basic things. Instead, she actually smiled. This woman has passed 'weird' a long time ago and was on the verge of crossing the barrier out of 'strange' into 'outright loony'. "It's written in fancy legal language, but it's pretty straightforward," she said. "You retain the house and all lands. She's willing to settle for full custody of Helena and Nicolas. Sarah and Adam would be yours."

"Her name's not Sarah," he said automatically. "It's Chloe." He couldn't process what Mendoza had just said. "Sarah was Hermione's mother's name. Mrs. Granger was still alive when Chloe was christened, so we never called her Sarah. She's always been called by her middle name-Chloe." There was no way Hermione could be serious.

"Whatever." Mendoza clearly couldn't care less what one of the assets to be divided was called. If he wanted to call his second daughter Chloe, Sarah, or a tea kettle, it didn't matter to her. She was a businesswoman doing what she was being paid to do. This was just another case for her to try to work out. As long as she got her money, she didn't give a damn what happened to his kids. And she wasn't going to any pains to hide it, either. "It's in your best interests to settle now," she said. "If you try to strike another deal, you'll probably end up losing everything-the house, the kids, all of it. Those are the best terms you're going to get."

"Tell Hermione to go to hell the next time you see her, Mendoza. Has she lost her mind? We're not talking about the bank account. The bank account won't care if it's split neatly down the middle. Lena and Chloe and Adam and Nicky will. Hermione's a very smart woman, Mendoza. Unless she's finally lost her wits, she'll know that it would devastate the four of them to be split up. We're Weasleys-we stick together. And don't even get me started on what it would do to Chloe and Adam. Do you know how old they are, Mendoza?"

"No. What does that have to do with anything?" The woman was genuinely confused. She really didn't get it. Mendoza was like Hermione in that-all book intelligence and no feeling. He knew that was unfair, but he didn't care. Being fair to Katherine Mendoza and Hermione was not high on his list of priorities.

"Chloe's eight and Adam's seven. You look like you're about my age, so you should be able to remember being eight, at least. What would you have thought if your mother said out of a blue sky, 'oh, I want your sister but I don't want you.'?"

"It wouldn't bethe same thing," Mendoza said, sounding extremely defensive for some reason. "My mother wasn't mentally ill."

"Two things, Mendoza. First, it wouldn't matter if Hermione was completely out of her tree, not to an eight-year-old and a seven-year-old. They're not old enough to grasp the concept of being mentally ill. All they would understand is that their mum wants Lena and Nicky but not them. Second, do you really expect me to cheerfully hand over two of my children to someone a lawyer, a bona fide member of that politically correct secret society of automatons, describes as mentally ill?"

"Better than-" Mendoza began, but she was cut off as the door was flung open with such force it bounced off the wall and Ron felt sure it would come unhinged. A tall woman came all but running in. Ron had never laid eyes on her in his life, and she didn't seem to notice that he was even there.

"Thank God you told Eugenia where you were going, Kate," she said, sounding out of breath. "I might never have found you, and this can't wait."

Mendoza's eyebrows were trying to disappear into her hair. "It's going to have to," she said. "I'm in the middle of a meeting with a client."

"Yeah, Hermione's husband. Kate, listen to me.Anne and-" for the first time, the woman glanced at Ron and changed what she had been ready to say. "_He_ married her," she said flatly. "No idea why. They finally tossed convention to the winds and got married. Private ceremony, only them and the priest and that Longbottom couple-Neville and that girl he married."

Mendoza stared. "No," she whispered, sounding stunned. "I thought it had been dealt with!"

"So did I. Come on, we have to see how much damage control we can do." She grabbed Mendoza by the arm and pulled her out the door before Ron could get as much as a word in.

"If that wasn't weird," he muttered finally, "I don't know what is." It was then he noticed that Mendoza had forgotten her briefcase. He started to close it, and that was when part of the backing fell out, sending a bundle of letters tied together with a faded ribbon tumbling out onto the table. They came to rest right-side-up, which was how he saw Hermione's handwriting. Why would Katherine Mendoza have letters from Hermione hidden in a secret compartment of her briefcase, especially letters that looked old?

They weren't all from Hermione, though. There were several handwritings he didn't recognize, some with Ginny's handwriting, three that looked like Amelia, and, at the very back, Harry's familiar cramped script. He was about to put them back where they had been when the word 'Weasley' jumped out at him from a scribbled note that fell out of the bundle:

_Weasley twins dead. Potter alive, barely. Would finish job, but Gringotts is less guarded. All my fault. Tell M.K. I won't screw up again. E.M._

Weasley twins dead. He knew about that. Potter barely alive? That was something new. And what job? Who were M.K. and E.M. ? A fragment of his and Harry's last conversation came back to him.

_'I had an...accident...a few years ago, all very covered up, no press. My memory's been messed up ever since.' _If this note was anything to go by, it had been no accident. It had been a murder attempt. And, inexplicably, Fred and George seemed to have been targets as well.

People wanting to kill Harry was something Ron could get his head around. After all, people had been wanting Harry dead since he was born, if not before. But Fred and George? They were successful businessmen, admittedly, but not on the level where, at that time, murdering them would have been as important as murdering Harry in those circles where people found getting Harry out of the way to be important. It didn't make sense.

"Who are you, Mendoza?" Ron asked the kitchen table, old conspiracy theory instincts trying to resurface. "Who are you and what did you have to do with killing my brothers?" The table didn't answer, and neither did Katherine Mendoza. He sat down and untied the ribbon around the letters. To hell with laws and courtesy. If Mendoza was up to something or had been, he was going to find it out. He wasn't going to be the next one with a price on his head.


	7. The Losing Side

**Chapter Seven: The Losing Side**

Ginny had said she was staying at the Burrow for a week, but Ron wasn't altogether surprised when the day she was supposed to depart came and went without her returning to Europe to find Colin. She was afraid to move and afraid to stay where she was, and he could hardly blame her. They were both waiting, though she didn't know for what and he knew all too well. For Mendoza to discover her missing letters and make the connection to him. For Hermione to make some reckless, desperate move. For the world as he knew it to fall apart. Waiting had never been something Ron was good at.

He was halfway through fixing himself an early breakfast when Ginny walked into the kitchen one morning, looking somehow odd in pajamas and a rough ponytail. It had been years since he saw her look anything other than perfectly put together. She fell into a chair without speaking, staring down at the edge of the table as if it contained all the secrets of the universe. He had done that often enough himself to recognize the look. After a few minutes, Ron offered her some sausage and scrambled eggs. She nodded her thanks as he sat down. After several more minutes of silence broken only by the birds outside the window and the clink of cutlery on chipped china, Ginny looked at him.

"Have you ever wanted something so much you'd do anything to have it?"

Ron thought about it. "I don't know. I guess I've thought I have, but I don't know." Ginny seemed to see that as an invitation to keep talking, because she picked up again as if he had never spoken.

"I don't even know now what it was I was playing for," she said, tapping the nails of her right hand against the wood absent-mindedly. "I was so new to that world that I got swept up in things too big for me to understand, then. By the time I got it, it was too late. The damage was done, and I couldn't change things." Her eyes swept up from the tabletop to scrutinize his face. "I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt, Ron. You believe me, don't you?"

"Gin, I don't even know what you're _talking _about."

"You remember how happy Mum and Dad were when Harry and I announced our engagement," she said, as if that was an explanation. "It was their fondest dream or something. He was practically already a member of the family and rich on top of it. If their little girl had to go fall in love with and marry someone, no one better, right? I was just young and stupid enough then to think that I did love him." She gave an unwilling chuckle. "I came closer to it with him than with anyone else, at any rate. I was obsessed for so many years, and it leveled out into something damn close to love. I don't think that kind of love exists, not now, but I did then and the result is still asleep upstairs. My boy was born nine months after the divorce was finalized." She didn't go into any more detail, and Ron was frankly grateful. There were some things he didn't need to know about his sister and his best friend.

"What about Colin?" he asked.

"I told you that Harry hasn't trusted me for years, even before we split. You and the others didn't know anything because we were careful to keep up appearances, but he watched every move I made. It was like being married to a stranger, in the end. He completely shut himself off from me. I was lonely, and Colin was there..." She shrugged, as if it were all of no great consequence. "We had an affair. I left Harry, and then had another affair with him. I married Colin. I had Arthur, and once he was born and I knew he was Harry's, I did what I thought I had to do and kept him a secret. That's all there was to it." Somehow, Ginny actually managed to make all of that sound perfectly everyday and sane, nowhere near as unnatural as Ron thought it was.

"Gin..." Asking seemed decidedly tasteless and tactless, but Ginny was his sister. He didn't have to pull punches with his sister. "Were you ever planning on telling Harry about the kid?"

Surprisingly, Ginny's eyes glistened with tears. "I didn't want to," she said quietly. "I still don't want to." Something akin to desperation entered her voice. "I don't have to, either. Colin and I are the only parents Arthur's ever known. He's fragile, Ron. I don't see how, not with me and Harry for parents, but he wouldn't be able to handle something like that. Especially not with the...resemblance." Ron couldn't repress a mirthless laugh at that. He thought it highly likely that even Arthur would notice that Mummy's friend happened to look like him. Ron had no intentions of being anywhere in range when _that_ particular reunion happened. Harry's temper could be unpredictable, especially when it came to the scraps of family he had found or put together over the years, and Ginny wasn't much better.

Ron shook his head, reluctantly acknowledging that he was just putting off facing the real issue. He knew what it was Ginny wanted him to do but couldn't bring herself to ask him. She wanted him to pretend that this whole bloody mess had never happened and to stand to one side while she continued on as she had been. What he didn't know was whether or not he had it in him to do it. What Ginny was doing to Harry was, more or less, the same thing Hermione meant to do to him. Ron didn't pretend, at least to himself, that his character was lacking in flaws, but that would be the highest form of hypocrisy. "If you can't do anything, Gin," he said finally, "then I will."

Ginny flushed angrily. "You're my brother. You're supposed to be on my side."

"I am on your side, but I can't let this one go, sis. I haven't got it in me."

"Then get it. I won't lose my boy because you're sentimental, Ronald."

"What did you do?"

"Beg pardon?"

"What did you do that makes you think you wouldn't stand a chance of keeping the kid doing things the legal way? Mendoza told me they almost always give kids to the mother. Why're you so afraid?"

"I – " She was cut off from saying what Ron thought was coming by a sudden cry of 'Mama' from upstairs. "Need to go take care of my son," she finished smoothly, as if that was what she had been planning to say all along. Hell, it might have been. Ron was beginning to get the impression that he didn't know Ginny that well any more. "He gets upset if I'm far from him, and Colin being back on the Continent isn't helping matters."

Ron couldn't remember the last time he had felt so torn in different directions off the top of his head. Ginny was his sister, but he knew in his gut and in his brain that what she was doing and planning to do wasn't right, and there were those death threats she had been tossing around. He thought she had just been desperate and rambling, maybe even bordering on hysterical, but there was always that chance that she had been serious. He didn't know what to do, and he couldn't win for losing. That was the way it had always been for Weasleys, and probably the way it always would be. Life on the losing side.


	8. News Bulletin

**Chapter Eight: News Bulletin**

Later, once the initial shock and furor over it died down, Ron would always think it oddly appropriate that he first got the news from the radio The media never let some people go.

On the Saturday immediately following their conversation, Ginny was gone before Ron woke up for the morning, leaving a note saying there was something she had to see to and would be back shortly. It was the first time she had ventured out since arriving at the Burrow, but Ron thought he knew why she had taken off. Ginny had gotten used to traveling over the past few years, not sitting still in one place. Unfortunately, her absence meant he was stuck in the position of having to reassure his jittery, nervous little nephew that she would be coming back and yes, she would be coming back before dark. It didn't take Ron long to decide that Arthur wouldn't have lasted five minutes with his kids no matter who the boy's father happened to be. Ginny hadn't exaggerated when she called her son fragile.

Ginny returned well before noon, dressed in unusually subdued robes and looking less tense than she had in years. There was something almost familiar about the air she had, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The smile she gave him as she straightened from kissing Arthur, whose joy at recovering her was the most animation he had shown yet, looked completely genuine. "Morning, Ron," she said. "Sorry I took off without waiting for everyone to get up, but you know..." she looked pointedly at her son. "Didn't want there to be a fuss."

"No problem," he replied. "Can you look after the kids for an hour or so later?"

"Why?"

"I have to go meet Mendoza, she – "

Ron never got to finish his sentence or go to his meeting with his attorney, because a popping noise announced her as she Apparated into his kitchen. He realized immediately that something was off about her, but it took him a moment to register it.

He had seen Mendoza angry – in truth, he had rarely seen her any other way – but he had never seen her when she was not almost insultingly in control of herself until now. The woman was shaking badly, her eyes were the size of saucepans in a face dramatically paler than usual, and, as the last thing his brain was capable of taking in, she had somehow managed to get someone's blood on her blouse...and on her hands.

"Appointment's off, Weasley," she said, staring straight ahead. "Something's come up." Her eyes darted towards her palms, then shot up as she shuddered violently. "I have to go to the hospital. They should have – " Guessing what she was about to do, Ron reached for her arm, but she Disapparated out as quickly as she had Apparated in.

"Mendoza!" His shout had no more affect on her absence than it did on his confusion. Arthur started crying, and Nicky quickly followed suit. Chloe and Adam looked too stunned to do anything. Lena looked like she was about to be sick as she moved to comfort her brother and cousin. He felt like he had been clocked over the head with a cast-iron cauldron. Ginny's aloof manner, one that suggested that blood-covered lawyers spouting rubbish in one's kitchen was perfectly normal, made her stand out as if she had sprouted extra arms from her head. Calmly, she moved across the room and flipped on the old radio by the sink, raising an eyebrow at his incredulous look.

"Katherine Mendoza's a well-respected member of society, even if she does insist on working," she said simply. "News of whatever's going on might be on WWN, if it's important enough to include her." The WWN didn't fail her for long, because the announcer's voice suddenly cut into an ancient Weird Sisters tune playing for the Classics Hour and gave the news bulletin Ron knew at once explained why Mendoza was panicking and had blood on her hands.

"We have just received news from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries that Harry Potter has been admitted as a patient after being found in his study with knife wounds to the back from what is believed to have been an assassination attempt around nine-fifteen this morning. Potter is known for..." Ron didn't hear the rest of it. The first thought to fly through his head was _Dear God, Harry's been stabbed. Someone tried to kill my best friend._ The second thought was _Dear God, Ginny was out at nine-fifteen. My sister had motive and opportunity to try to kill my best friend. _He met her eyes squarely, and was immediately unnerved by how calm she was. Ginny was a Weasley. She shouldn't have been so calm upon finding out that her ex-husband, the father of her only child, had been literally stabbed in the back.

"Gin...you didn't..." He couldn't even make the accusation. Not in front of the kids – they had enough stress for one morning, between Mendoza appearing covered in what he could only assume was Harry's blood and finding out that their surrogate uncle had been stabbed – and maybe not at all. He couldn't believe that she would actually...

"Why would I?" she asked. "Harry might die if I stabbed him, but it wouldn't be before he took me out with him, and I've never been suicidal. Besides, I gave up offing people after the War, and everything he has will go to Helena if he dies now. I was just out of my head on Memorial Day." Ron's jaw dropped at hearing his baby sister talk like that. This was not Ginny. He didn't know who it was, but Ginny would never be able to talk about a situation like this like that, never mind when it pertained someone she had once cared about by her own admission. She couldn't have been the one who did it. She would be falling to pieces in more ways than one if she was. Harry would have fought. Unless he didn't have time to fight...unless he had been killed before he could react and it was being kept quiet for some reason... No. Harry was not dead, and it wasn't Ginny who had tried to put him in that condition. It couldn't have been Ginny. He wouldn't let it be Ginny. It had to have been Mendoza or some random person with a grudge. Since Mendoza had never struck him as the sort to kill a client – clients, after all, gave her money – that left a relative of some Death Eater Harry had taken out during the War. But why would someone like that use a knife instead of a curse?

"Go," Ginny said abruptly, breaking into his increasingly frantic thoughts. "Go on to St. Mungo's. You're not going to do any good there, but you're not going to give yourself or anyone else a moment's peace until you see for yourself that the fool's still alive. If he ever wakes up, you can ask him what you asked me, and he'll tell you the exact same thing. Well, he will if he remembers it."

Finding Harry wasn't difficult once he arrived at St. Mungo's. All he had to do was follow the sound of a crowd of reporters. Getting through to the front was difficult, but he managed it somehow, largely in part, he suspected, because some of them recognized him from the old days. Once he did reach it, the number of others congregated there surprised him. The news had traveled fast. Neville Longbottom made a beeline for him.

"I would say good afternoon, but..."

"Any idea what happened, Neville? The radio didn't give many details."

Neville bit his lip, looking anxious. "It was Kate Mendoza who found him," the shorter man said. "He'd given the staff orders that no one was to disturb him except her. The maid heard her start screaming and found her in the floor trying to stop the bleeding with her cloak. Hermione was there...she Flooed over here to get help. The Healers are doing what they can, but whoever stabbed him did it a good while before Kate got there. The Aurors are all over the house...I guess they still see it as an attack on one of their own or something. Can't blame them. All of us who fought that first battle with him are here except Ginny, and some of the others, too. Luna's calm as hell, but she's the only one."

"How'd everyone else find out so fast?"

"Cathy was on call, so that's how I found out," Neville said, with a nervous shrug. "I have no idea about everyone else." Cathy? Who in the... Oh. Neville's wife, Catherine, was one of the Healers here. How had he forgotten that? It had taken him so long to get used to the idea of Neville being married that he should have retained the knowledge for the rest of his life. Spotting a distinctly familiar head of hair, he clapped Neville on the shoulder and instinctively moved to where his wife and sisters-in-law were standing, Fleur wringing a handkerchief furiously, Amelia trying to smooth out her hair – he had a feeling that she had only gotten out of bed because she heard about Harry, Fleur had told him that her bad days were starting to outnumber the good – and Hermione giving the wall the same sort of blank stare Mendoza had back at the Burrow. Forgetting about their situation, he put a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to look at him.

"Ron?" she whispered hoarsely, sounding as if she had already cried more than once. There was something vaguely disturbing about how blank her face was. Suddenly, her already reddened eyes were overflowing, and she promptly buried her face in his shoulder and began sobbing, deep, wrenching sobs it frightened him to hear. If she was this upset, then it was bad. It was really bad. His arms closed around her automatically. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be as bad as Hermione's reaction indicated. After a bit, she stopped crying, but didn't move from where she was.

Ron never did quite work out how long it was between when Hermione turned on the waterworks and when Catherine Longbottom emerged, looking weary and worried. The reporters all moved towards her automatically, but she held up a hand to stop them. "Mr. Potter is alive, for the time being, and that's all I'm going to say to any of you," she said flatly. "Since I'm sure we all want to keep him and the other patients that way, none of you are going to stay here and cause a fuss. If there's a single reporter here in five minutes, he or she will be escorted from the hospital by security."

Ron started to disengage from Hermione and approach Catherine once the reporters started moving, but his sometime wife was very reluctant to let him go. Of all the career choices he had considered, sanity anchor wasn't one of them, but he kept an arm around her as he moved towards the light-haired Healer. "What d'you mean, for the time being?" he asked in a low voice, hoping to prevent eavesdropping by any stragglers among the reporters.

Catherine looked up at him with faint annoyance. "Exactly what it sounded like I meant," she said. "When I left the room, he was breathing, his heart was beating, and most of his brain seemed to be functioning. He was still unconscious, and I have no idea how long it'll be before he wakes up or even _if_ he does. If Kate had found him right after it happened, I would have been able to tell you more, but as it is...he wouldn't have lasted fifteen more minutes, I don't think, and probably not ten. He was stabbed twice, once much deeper than the other, and he lost a lot of blood. Our assassin wasn't playing games – she knew what she was doing with that knife."

"She?" Hermione asked.

"Call it a hunch," Catherine said, shrugging tiredly. "I can't help but think it was a woman. A woman's style, you might say, but I'll leave the investigations to the Aurors. Keeping the man alive is enough of a job for me." Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Though she and Neville didn't publicize the fact, Catherine's family was known for turning out Seers. She herself didn't have visions or the like, but they both knew from experience that her hunches often turned out to be right.

"Can we see Harry?" Ron asked bluntly.

For a moment, he thought the Healer was going to run them off, but then she sighed. "You two and you two _only_, and don't think I'll feel at all guilty about kicking you out if you cause too much noise. I shouldn't allow it at all, but...I think Harry would want you there. Who knows, you might even do some good. Some of the Mindhealers say that it does." Neither of them gave her time to change her mind.

Harry looked like he was dead already as they took their all-too-familiar posts on either side of his hospital bed. Hermione pressed her hands over her mouth and nose hard, but she didn't start crying again. For a moment, Ron was overwhelmed with memories of other times he and Hermione had sat this same vigil and still others where it had been him and Harry over Hermione or, more rarely, Harry and Hermione over him. In spite of the cold dread in the pit of his stomach, Ron couldn't help noticing how easy it was to slip back into their trio. The dream team was together again, even if it had taken a tragedy to pull them out of their lives and back to where they needed to be.

"Hey, mate," Ron said after several minutes of silence. "Remember the game that day? The Cannons won. You've got to come around so I'll have someone to listen to me gloat about it. Hermione never will. She still thinks Quidditch is just a game people put too much weight on." The light tone he was trying for didn't come off right. Damn, he hadn't felt like this since his father died. Arthur Weasley had made a good end, but there had been two days where he lingered like this, and all his seven children and wife could do was sit by and wait for him to finish dying. That wasn't the most encouraging thought... "No one who lived through the Killing Curse and dueling You-Know-Who and Basilisk bites and all the rest can't go down to a knife," he continued on doggedly, noticing that he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince anyone else. "Selena'd never forgive you." Selena Wyatt had become Head of the Auror Division not long after Harry completed his training in that field and a good ten years before she should have had any hope of it. More time in office had done little to smooth the edges of the woman's often abrasive personality, and there was more than one reason why Wyatt was the worst nightmare of the more political Ministry employees.

Hermione, the one who could go into the realm of feelings without permanent image damage because she was the girl, regained full control of herself at last and reached out to give the hand closest to herself a squeeze. "What idiot over there means, Harry, is that we love you and we're not going anywhere." There was a slight catch in her voice, but she didn't break down. "Never."

Ron gave her a grateful look she returned with a weak, very forced-looking, smile. "What she said." Some part of his brain couldn't help but wait for the sarcastic comeback...but it didn't come. Somehow, he didn't think it would have even if Harry hadn't been out of it. "You're stuck with us, to the end."

"To the end," Hermione echoed.

And then, having done all they knew to do, they could only wait.


End file.
